


Soft Armor

by whereismygarden



Series: Touch [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:45:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumpelstiltskin brings back a magical creature from one of his deals and leaves Belle to care for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Armor

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not exactly sure how to warn for this, but: G-rated bloodplay. Sort of. Just a warning for those who might be squeamish over blood.

A crash echoed from the floor above where Belle currently stood, quickly followed by a snarling yell. She sat up straight in her chair and set her book to the side, awaiting the appearance of her employer. She was not disappointed, as Rumpelstiltskin popped into being at the other end of the room and stalked towards her, scowling. There was a scratch running from his temple to jaw, and Belle noted that his blood was a deep red color, not black or blue like a demon’s.

                “Are you all right?” she asked, standing and waiting for him to stop across from her. He drew his finger down the cut and stuck it in her face.

                “What do you think, dearie?” he snapped, then waved his hand curtly: the cut vanished, along with the blood. “I materialized right into the silver armor! You moved it!”

                “I was cleaning it yesterday. Maybe you should just walk into rooms instead of appearing.” She was being arch with him, and wondered if she was pushing him too far. Usually he didn’t mind being teased. He paused and narrowed his eyes, and she knew that he was thinking; any malice in his eyes had faded.

                “Inefficient,” he said finally, sniffing. Belle’s mouth twitched slightly.

                “I make do,” she responded, sitting again and picking up her book.

                “I expect you do,” he replied, but instead of leaving (she expected him to go in a puff of smoke, just to let her know he wasn’t heeding her) he sprang onto the back of her chair and perched like a bird, forearms resting on his thighs and seemingly comfortable crouching over her head. Belle smiled down at her book. She couldn’t tip her head back without knocking her head against his boots, and she needed to pause and put on a straight face.

                After a few seconds of deliberation, she kept reading, too conscious of his presence to focus as she wanted to. He was acting like a puppy, seeking her attention by being pesty instead of simply talking to her. He was a lonely man, though, so she could forgive him for acting like a twelve-year-old rather than the grown man he was. He shifted above her, and she wondered if ignoring him was the best choice. As silly as he was being, he was still the most powerful man in all the realms.

                Hands caught at her hair and drew it up towards him, and she started in her seat. Leather creaked behind her, and one of his feet nudged her shoulder.

                “You can keep reading, dearie,” his voice was thick with amusement, but she had started their sniping, so she kept her eyes on her book, disregarding the occasional tug on her tresses as he played with them. Then her hair fell back around her shoulders with a whisper, and she glanced around her shoulders to see that he had woven most of the top layer into a web of tiny braids, thinner than she had thought possible, and it fell like a net over the rest of her curls.

                “It looks nice,” she said, uncertain how to respond, and turned to look at him. He looked shifty, balancing atop the back of the heavy chair, on one knee, the other drawn up to his chest. “Thank you.” He leapt down abruptly, flourishing his hands, and grinned at her.

                “My pleasure,” he said, and bowed mockingly. Then he snapped his fingers and was gone again. Belle sighed and closed her book once more, figuring that she should go set the armor to rights.

                They were less careful with touch, after that. He didn’t jump as much when she touched his arm after she poured tea, and she didn’t mind when he brushed by her after a meal. She realized, slowly, that he was hungry, dying for the feel of someone else, and wondered how long he had been alone. Because she had only been in his castle a month, and she cherished every time he stumbled not-accidentally against her. She missed her hugs from her father and her friends; she missed her dances with Gaston: for all that she had never loved him, he was a good friend, and she almost regretted how she had tended to shrink from his touch.

                Rumpelstiltskin’s touch was all she had now, and she found she would mind less if they touched more.

\-----

                One day he brought back a white foal, holding onto its halter and mane with a cruel hand, gritting his teeth as it thrashed about, trying to kick him.

                “Belle!” he shouted, trying to hold the beast at arm’s length. “Where are you, girl?” She had been cleaning out one of his innumerable dusty rooms half-filled with forgotten treasures, and now she hurried down the stairs to the main hall, gasping at his cargo.

                “You’re hurting it!” she exclaimed, dismayed by its pitiful neighing, but he laughed hoarsely.

                “Hardly, dearie,” he panted. “It’s just a wild thing that doesn’t like me. Which is why—oof—you’re going to take care of it.” He winced and collected his breath, putting his foot behind its legs to prevent another kick to the stomach. Belle balked. She had ridden horses, but never broken one, and this young one was the most irate animal she had ever seen. Rumpelstiltskin, however, did not seem to care about her reticence, and shoved it towards her, slapping horsehair and dirt off his coat.

                To her surprise, it ran straight towards her and nuzzled her palm gently, the flashing brown eyes calming. It was a sweet little thing when calm, with long lashes and knobbly legs.

                “It likes me,” she said smugly, but he didn’t seem surprised, shrugging off his coat and dumping it unceremoniously on the table.

                “Of course he does, he’s a unicorn foal,” he replied. Belle frowned: unicorn lore had always bored her, especially because she had assumed that it was, in fact, all stories.

                “What does that have to do with it?” she asked, patting its head. There was a round silvery marking over its eyes. Perhaps its legendary horn would grow in there. Rumpelstiltskin paused, halfway up the stairs.

                “They don’t like being handled except by virgins, dearie,” he said. “Take him out to the stable, I won’t have him in the castle.” Belle nodded, then flushed red, stopping and facing him.

                “Excuse you, what would you have done with him if you had guessed wrong about me?” He looked quizzically at her, blinking.

                “What do you mean?” he was truly confused, and for some reason that irked her.

                “About me being a virgin!” she snapped, embarrassed. He tilted his head.

                “It wasn’t a guess.” He turned away again, and was gone before Belle could think of an appropriate response to his remark. She tugged on the foal’s halter.

                “Come on, let’s get you somewhere more suiting, pet.” It followed her obediently through the hall and out the door to the maze of outbuildings and overrun garden that made up the back of Rumpelstiltskin’s castle. There was a stable out here, somewhere, though whether it was in any condition to house the little creature was a different matter altogether.

                After kneeing open a few doors, Belle found the stable in decent repair and guided the foal into a wide stall.

                “This will be your place,” she told him, patting his nose. “I expect you eat hay like any horse.” It blinked its liquid eyes at her. “You need a name, my friend,” she cooed, charmed. “How about Lion? You certainly have the temperament, I think.” She closed the door of the stall, walked around to the outside of the stable, and opened the window that swung outward, trying to give him some air.

                “Belle!” a yell came from the castle and she rolled her eyes, fixing the shutter so it would remain open. The little unicorn neighed as she hurried off, and Belle smiled back at it.

                Rumpelstiltskin was standing with his arms crossed in the great hall again, frowning at the floor. Belle cleared her throat after she had been standing in front of him for a few moments. He jerked, as if he had forgotten he had called her in.

                “Yes?” she said pointedly. He took her wrist in his hands and sniffed her palm, making her recoil in surprise. “What are you doing?” He let go of her and resumed his scowling.

                “Don’t get too attached to it, dearie. They get vicious. I wouldn’t touch it much.” Belle rubbed her hand against her skirt, discomfited.

                “He’s very sweet. He just doesn’t like you. Now if you’ll excuse me, Lion needs to be fed, and I am going to lead him out to the grass.” Rumpelstiltskin snorted.

                “You named it? It won’t be here for long, and let me tell you, dearie, you could care for it for years and it would turn on you the moment you came near it without your maidenhood.” Belle swished past him, as he didn’t seem interested in giving her something to do.

                “Like that will ever happen,” she muttered, very softly, not sure if she regretted that. It was too late to think on that, now. She had chosen her own fate, which was more than could be said for the poor creature locked up in the stable.

\-----

                Lion turned out a proud little thing, with a white coat unlike any normal horse, and silvery-grey hooves. She had cleaned them once, smearing dirt all over her green dress—one of several Rumpelstiltskin had given her, with an uncertain smile and a careless wave of his hand—in the process. They were made of horn, and grooved like any other young colt’s, but with a strange silver sparkle. The little spot over his eyes was growing a pearl-textured bump, and she wondered how long until it became a proper horn and he resembled one of the creatures from Rumpelstiltskin’s books of lore.

                He had a taste for the flowers growing wild in the meadow behind the castle, and Belle liked to lie stretched out on a blanket, reading, while he grazed. Nominally, she was watching over Lion, but he was loyal to her, staying within quick reach, and it was a nice break from the gloom of the castle. Rumpelstiltskin sniffed over her attachment to him, but trusted her reports that he was growing well.

                “Are you going to tame him?” she asked one afternoon, putting his tea down in front of him. He sipped at it slowly, and shook his head.

                “ _I_ can’t, as you know. It doesn’t need to be tamed, anyway.” Belle poured her own tea and settled down on the table’s edge. He still hadn’t added a chair to the table, whether through design or obliviousness, she didn’t know.

                “I mean break him, to ride. I could try, if you want.” He jerked his head around, meeting her eyes urgently.

                “Absolutely not,” he snapped, grabbing her wrist. “Have you done any reading on the things at all?” Belle shook her head, wrinkling her nose.

                “It’s all folklore: the real thing is out there to study.” He hissed softly.

                “Folklore is born out of truth, dearie,” he said sharply. “Read the books. Get some sense.”

                The next time Belle was out in the meadow with Lion, she brought the most well-worn of his bestiaries with her and turned to the section on unicorns, settling down to read. The book was very old, made of skin parchment and written rather than printed. Several different hands had contributed to it, and she thought that it was one of a kind—or that any copies had been born of this one.

That night, Rumpelstiltskin conjured a chair for her with a snap of his fingers and gestured for her to sit as they ate supper.

                “Learn anything useful?” he asked. Belle blew on a spoonful of soup.

                “Maybe,” she allowed, but teasingly. She didn’t want him to think she resented his advice. He nodded, not gloating overmuch.

                “No trying to ride him,” he pressed, and Belle nodded.

                “I’ve no desire to be pulled between worlds, believe me!” she said. “Though, what do you want with him? There are so many things to be done with them, I suppose.”

                “The horn can cure any wound with a touch. The blood can restore those dying of illness. And their hairs can be used in all sorts of spell involving slipping between realms.”

                Given that Lion’s wariness and disdain of Rumpelstiltskin only grew with him, Belle couldn’t fathom how he would harvest hairs or blood. He was growing ever larger, his horn over half a foot long in just a month’s time, and his coat taking on a silvery sheen. He grew more willful, too, but continued to follow Belle, requiring only a little more insistence from her. Whenever Rumpelstiltskin approached her with him around, he would place himself in front of Belle, rising onto his hind legs and waving his sharp hooves at the irritated sorcerer, who never backed up, but never tried to approach further either. His protectiveness was charming, if occasionally inconvenient, and Belle wondered if he thought her his mother or herd-member.

                Belle collected all the bestiaries in the library and scoured the sections on unicorns, using a pencil to mark out sections clearly made up by the authors (the bit about the teeth of a unicorn being made of pure gold, for example) and making notes on the other parts.

                _The unicorn does not form herds in the wild, preferring to live alone, usually in the depths of the forest. They protect their territory fiercely, only allowing maidens to approach them. Apocryphal tales tell of unicorns becoming the protectors of the girls who live in villages near their forests, and residents of the Black Forest insist to this day that a unicorn can sense a man with lustful intentions and will attempt to prevent him from approaching the woman he desires. Such tales are unsubstantiated, because unicorns will not return to any girl no longer a maiden. Black Forest unicorns tend towards a white coat, while those from drier climes are often golden…_

                Belle narrowed her eyes at Lion, a thought struggling to shape itself in her mind. She had touched Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder that morning, squeezed it with her left hand. She stood up and walked over to Lion, sticking her palm before his nose. He snorted at the scent in her hand, tossing his head in an unfriendly way, and Belle leaned back to avoid the sharp horn.

                “Hmmm,” she said, stroking his neck thoughtfully. “Of course, that is all rumor, and you do rather hate Rumpelstiltskin.” Still, it gave her pause, and made her think more on how touch-starved Rumpelstiltskin was, and what else he might be starved for.

\-----

                When Lion was a young colt rather than a foal, theirs—hers—for over a month, he walked up to her and handed her a slim glass bottle, with no preamble.

                “What’s this for?” she asked, tapping the glass with a fingernail: it rang softly. Rumpelstiltskin clapped his hands together.

                “I need you to fill this with blood from your wicked beast, dearie.” Belle froze in shock, nearly dropping the bottle. “Problem?” he asked, his smile knifelike.

                “No!” she said, thrusting the bottle back towards him. He leaned back dramatically, and she set the bottle down on the table, glaring at him. “I won’t.” He was still smiling.

                “Yes, you will. It’s not going to hurt him, if you go about it carefully. I have a knife with numbing salve, just for you!” He flourished it before her eyes, and smacked the handle into her palm. “I could do it myself, dearie, but then both of us would be hurt, and I’m not sure how I feel about your nursing skills.” Belle hefted the knife, wondering if he would mind overmuch if she poked him with it—numbing salve, indeed—but his voice and eyes were deadly serious. This was not something she could joke away or refuse.

                She led Lion out to his pasture, leaving a few apples on the ground to tempt him, and pressed the knife lightly against his flank, which twitched at the pressure. More force required, then. She bit her lip and bore down, flinching, and sighed when a thin trickle of blood issued forth. She glanced nervously at Lion’s head—and sharp horn—but the numbed blade had worked, and he was still enjoying the apples. The bottle ended up with blood slick over the sides and her clumsy fingerprints, but it filled quickly, and she pressed a cloth to the unicorn’s side, staunching the flow.

                Rumpelstiltskin accepted the bottle with delicate fingers when she came back smelling like grass and iron, tasting the blood from the side. Belle shuddered, and he smiled at her.

                “Good for the health, dearie.” He gestured at her slippery fingers. “Waste not.”

                “Absolutely not!” she snapped. “That’s horrible!” He pursed his lips and seized her hand.

                “You eat meat, don’t you? You cut up the birds and pieces of flesh I bring you, and cook and serve them.”

                “That’s different,” she muttered lamely, revolted at the idea of tasting the blood that coated her hand.

                “Yes, it is. It’s _crueler_ ,” he hissed, and drew her hand up to his mouth, sucking the blood off her fingers. Belle gasped and jerked away, but he held her close, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he licked at her palm and between her fingers, relishing her discomfort. She wanted to punch him, but her fingers were limp and her pulse stuttered. His tongue flicked over her fingertips and he drew her hand out of his mouth, slowly, still sucking at her skin.

                “Mmm,” he said softly, still looking at her. Belle tugged her hand from his and shoved him away, feeling uneasy over the twisting in her stomach combined with the strange flutter in her chest. He laughed his false giggle and hurried off, clutching the bottle of blood in his fingers.

                Belle hurried to the basin of water in the kitchen and washed her hands off, rubbing fiercely at her hand. Not a trace of blood remained, thanks to Rumpelstiltskin’s ministrations, but it was sticky with his spit, and her whole arm was shaking.

                He had tortured a man with her a few rooms over, but this was worse or stranger, for some reason. There was no reason for him to take such glee in the taste of blood: she thought of the cut he had given himself on the armor the day he braided her hair, the crimson sliding down his face. Like any normal man’s, but she thought she had seen more of the monster today. The hands that spun, that braided her hair, had held her painfully tight and left her at his mercy.

                It wasn’t the blood, she realized, as she cut up vegetables for supper that afternoon. They ate meat, and she had snapped her share of chickens’ necks. It was his relishing of the act, of _her._ For the first time, she thought about what everyone back home must think she was doing here. She was innocent, as he had said, but she was not ignorant, and the look in his eyes was one she couldn’t mistake, no matter how much she wanted to deny it. And his lust made her knees weak, made her insides quiver, and she was sure that it should turn her stomach instead.

                He was civil at dinner, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t held her against him and… violated her, somehow. Taken something from her. And the quivery feeling hadn’t left her, had moved between her legs and burned there. So his casual touch—like nothing had happened—felt like a brand against her skin. She gasped at the feeling of his hand, and he snapped his eyes to her face, studying her. There was a blush rising in her face, she could feel it.

                “I’m sorry if I upset you,” he said, speaking to his plate, but Belle had to smile. He was rude, really, but for a man who had been alone for countless years, he managed to swallow his pride more often than not. She squeezed his hand in acceptance of his apology, feeling her strangely-awakened lust dissipate.

                “It wasn’t the blood thing,” she managed to say, stumbling over her words. “It was… the manner of taking. You unsettled me.” He nodded, but didn’t say anything. He was much more comfortable at playing the monster than being a man, Belle knew, so she prodded further at him. “The one book you have, mentions that unicorns are especially aggressive towards men with…” She faltered for a moment, then pressed on, looking to the side. “With intention toward… the women nearby.” He shifted in his chair; she heard his heavy clothes rustle.

                “The women nearby?” he asked, and she welcomed the familiar teasing bite in his voice. This was easier half-cloaked in their usual method of conversation.

                “Well, the maidens anyway,” she tried to banter back, but found her voice serious again. “How did you know? You never explained.” She looked over at him, to find him looking oddly at her, his mouth half-quirked and eyes hunted. He waved his hand.

                “I didn’t… check, if you worried. I can, with magic, and find the nature of things, but I could just tell. You were a high-born lady, betrothed. You wouldn’t go back on your word, betray your fiancé.” Belle snorted.

                “Plenty do,” she scoffed, scraping idly at the rim of her bowl. The stew she had made was going cold and hard.

                “You take duty and promises too seriously for that,” he replied, still quiet. “And, well, as for the other thing, dearie,” and now the jesting was back in his voice, “I’m only a man, and you’re the only woman around. I expect I’ve less lust than some!” He giggled at the thought, finding some private amusement in his words.

                Belle wondered at herself, that night, curled in her bed. She felt half-insulted, of all the things to feel, by his dismissal of his own desire. She’d stood struck at his touch, and his mouth, in all its rude presumption over her hand, had woken up desire between her legs. Lust felt strange and new under her skin, and reciprocity would be… less frightening.

\-----

                A week later, after three days of his absence followed by a day of bad moods and shouting within his laboratory, her new, sharp hunger had evaporated in the face of the bloody, stained clothes he had given her upon his return. She went out to collect Lion from the stable one morning and met him leaning against the door, swinging a halter and line from one hand.

                “If you don’t mind, dearie. Since the beast is likely to skewer me.” She snatched them from his hand and marched into the stable, leaving him waiting behind the door.

                “What is your plan now?” she called over her shoulder.

                “Why, I need him for a deal, of course!” Belle froze in the middle of pulling the halter over Lion’s head, heart pounding. He whickered at her sudden tension.

                “What?” she cried out. He poked his head into the stable, face annoyed.

                “He’s been here for scarcely longer than a month, dearie.” Belle patted his velvety nose and blinked rapidly. “Don’t worry, I’m not selling him to be skinned and eaten, you can rest easy.”

                “Thank you,” she gulped, fixing the lead to the halter and unlocking the stall door.

                “You can come with me for the rest of the deal, actually. Saves me the trouble of wrestling the wretched thing.” He bounded forward, curling his hand round her shoulder before Lion could do much more than neigh dangerously.

                Belle swayed at the touch of magic, feet slipping over moss and leaf litter. She jumped, because in the space of an eyeblink, they were suddenly in the midst of a forest, under grey afternoon skies.

                “We’ve come east,” he said unnecessarily, then backed away as Lion lowered his horned head at him. “Insufferable creature.”

                They waited long minutes, Rumpelstiltskin circling and peering into the woods constantly, Belle simply standing, holding Lion’s lead. The unicorn kept circling her as well, keeping himself between her and Rumpelstiltskin, and eventually Belle dissolved into tired giggling at both of them and sat down in the leaves.

                Rustling came through the trees a few moments later, and two elaborately dressed women stalked out of the trees. Belle scrambled to her feet, brushing leaves off her dress, as Rumpelstiltskin walked towards the newcomers. They were both slim and tall, dressed in trousers and leather jerkins, decorated all over with silk stitching and little shimmery chunks of amethyst and topaz. One wore a helmet adorned with bright feathers, and Belle felt plain in her simple dress and blouse. Even their boots, though not as high and frightening as Rumpelstiltskin’s, were buckled and tied all over.

                “Ladies,” he twittered, clapping his hands softly. “Glad you made it.” The taller of the pair glared down at him, folding her arms, clad in patterned, decorative chainmail, over her chest.

                “Rumpelstiltskin, we’re in no mood for games.” She looked over at Lion and frowned at Belle, stalking forward. Belle tensed her hand around his halter, but Rumpelstiltskin waved carelessly.

                “They won’t hurt you, dearie,” he assured her. The taller woman was older, with lines of age across her brow and cheeks, but her hair was a deep, untainted red, which clashed violently with her bright clothing. She took Lion’s halter with a delicate hand and held her palm out to sniff. Belle felt a twinge of jealousy when he butted his nose against the stranger’s shoulder, making her laugh softly. She sniffed and blinked away a tear.

                “His name is Lion,” she said, and the woman tilted her head, considering.

                “Rumpelstiltskin!” she said curtly, rubbing her nose. “Why don’t you let us take the girl as well.” Belle jumped and stepped back from the woman, who was looking at her employer in all seriousness.

                “She’s a human being, my dear, not suited for your life. And she’s not for sale. Not mine to sell,” he added at the end, quietly.

                “Well, you could come with us if you liked, girl. Lion likes you.” Belle blinked at the woman’s falsely disinterested tone, while a lump formed in her throat over her acceptance of the name. Rumpelstiltskin shook his head slightly and cleared his throat.

                “Pay me, and go. I don’t need you about, confusing my housekeeper.”

                The woman handed over the lead to her companion, who took it silently, eyes glittering fearfully at Rumpelstiltskin from under her helmet. She fished a small cloth pouch from her belt and tossed it to Rumpelstiltskin, who caught it one-handed and peered inside.

                “Thank you, Diana,” he said smugly. She frowned at him, then at Belle, and leaned forward to sniff at Belle.

                “You stink like lust, girl,” she said coolly. “Maybe not such a good fit after all.” And with that, Lion and his new handlers disappeared into the forest, leaving Belle blinking and confused. Rumpelstiltskin reached for her shoulder again, and they were standing outside his castle once more, sans her unicorn.

                “Who were those women?” she asked thickly, fighting back a few tears. “What did they want with me?” He snorted, flicking a speck of moss from his boot with a black fingernail.

                “Forest nymphs: ever virgin, ever belligerent. And ever recruiting. Unfortunately for them, I don’t wish to give up my housekeeper.” Belle kicked idly at the stable door.

                “I don’t think I’d like going with them anyway,” she said, and glanced up to meet his eyes. He was amused again.

                “Hmm, yes, apparently you stink like lust,” he teased, and she flushed red. His lips quirked.

                “I might be done with unicorns, you know,” he said, running his hand—lightly, not unkindly—down her arm. Belle swallowed, not ready for what he was asking. Not after his last hungry touch, which hadn’t been kind.

                “What did you get from her?” she asked instead, and his face took on its normal, unreadable cast.

                “Something special.” He fished out the little pouch and shook its contents into her hands.

                “You traded Lion away for a piece of bark?” she cried, outraged, and shoved him. He snapped his fingers, vanishing pouch and fleck of wood, eyes patient.

                “A very rare and valuable piece of bark. From a tree that’s the last of its kind.” Belle glowered, and he jerked his head, striding off into the castle. That meant he wanted her to follow, so she did, still more than a little irked over his deal. Especially with the nymphs, who had been unpleasant, though beautiful in all their finery.

                She shook her head, irritated to discover jealousy. She had no use for pretty dresses anymore, when she spent her days doing laundry and cooking, but she hadn’t liked the scornful, pitying looks Diana had thrown towards Rumpelstiltskin’s stablehand. Even less welcome was the way she had talked to Rumpelstiltskin instead of her, as though her choice didn’t matter.

                It did with him, most of the time. She had been half-afraid that he would leave her to stay in his dungeon—that had lasted only a few days—or throw her into his bed when he let her out. Her choice had been to come with him as housekeeper, and so she wasn’t his prisoner or bedwarmer. Though maybe his predilections, and hers, strayed in that direction sometimes.

                “Observe,” he said, pulling her from her reverie, and she blinked to find them standing before the silver armor. “This armor is made of sea-serpent scales.” Belle tilted her head.

                “It’s just like silver, though.” She had polished it, rubbed away stains. She had noticed a rippling quality to the steel, but put it down to the manner of its making. Rumpelstiltskin rolled the piece of bark in his hands, holding it with a scrap of silk cloth: he seemed unwilling to touch it directly.

                “Sea serpent armor is worn by the folk of the sea, and some sailor managed to get ahold of this set. If it’s not kept wet, though, it turns hard heavy, like metal. An enchantment laid on it by the sea witches.” He touched the armor with the edge of the bark, just for a moment, and it shimmered, and Belle gasped.

                The white gleam of silver softened into a rainbow spray like sunlight off a trout’s back, and the scales shaded from a dark charcoal to almost-white. She reached out a finger and touched soft, layered skin. Rumpelstiltskin held his hand out and a knife appeared there, long and with a hooked blade. He lunged at the armor with it, and Belle cried out, not wanting him to destroy the beautiful thing. The blade bounced off without a sound, the scales unblemished. He smiled a satisfied smile, and with a wisp of purple smoke, both knife and bark were gone.

                “Undoes enchantment,” he pronounced. “That would have taken me a few weeks of study.” Belle ran a finger down the sleeves of the restored armor.

                “It’s very beautiful,” she said softly.

                “I expect I’ll deal it back, now.” His voice was self-satisfied. “It’ll be stable for weeks now. And you don’t have to polish it anymore, dearie. And I won’t run into it.”

\-----

                He ate little that evening, but crept behind her and played with her hair again, leaving long, thin tassel-like braids brushing the sides of her face. Belle pulled one in front of her eyes and noticed he had tied them with pieces of his gold thread.

                “It was so soft, but I guess not much could cut through it. It’s strange to think about.” His hands faltered.

                “What?” She turned around so that they sat face to face, closer than usual. He drew his hands back into his lap, fiddling with the thread.

                “That the armor is so beautiful and soft, but so strong.” He tucked the last bit of thread somewhere into his clothes, face pensive.

                “Anything can be broken,” he said, suddenly grim. “The strong things are always beautiful.”

                Belle considered that, tried to think of something unbreakable, but couldn’t come up with anything she had seen or felt. Maybe someday she would have an answer, but for tonight, she simply cleared away the dishes and went to bed, worn out from the day.


End file.
